A Matter of Time
by Melethril
Summary: Elves do not measure time as mortals do. However, Legolas has trouble finding peace in the most elfish and timeless of places.


_Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing. The stories around Middlearth belong to JRR Tolkien and Christopher Tolkien. _

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_Author's note_: This story was inspired by the wonderful work of JRR Tolkien and many excellent fanfiction writers, most notably Silivren Tinu, Legolass Q, Lamiel and Thundera Tiger. The greatest inspiration for this however were Jedi Sapphire's marvelous stories about Mirkwood, Thranduil and Legolas.

Jedi, I'd like to thank you for all the discussions and your writing as well as your patience with an overenthusiastic reader who keeps prodding you to write more :) Also, thanks for allowing me to borrow Thorontur and other tidbits of "your" Greenwood.

For those who only stumbled to this story: If you want to read a master's work, check Jedi Sapphire's profile. I'm just an apprentice, especially in the world of LotR fanfiction.

This is my first LotR fanfiction. Please keep that in mind before throwing axes and (twin) knives :)

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**A Matter of Time**

Time was a curious thing.

It flowed like a river, swift and ever-changing, but there were always still and quiet waters.

Whether you rushed through the river of time or you were more accustomed to remaining by the shore depended on the people you were part of.

Elves as a whole frequented the quiet waters of the river right by the shore. Legolas had grown up and lived around Elves, so it was no mystery what his general view on time was. In fact, he'd noticed that no matter how timeless Imladris seemed, Lord Elrond's home was more accustomed to treading the fast waters than any citizen of Greenwood as they dealt far more frequently with mortal strangers than Thranduil's kingdom did. Oh, Aragorn was repeatedly forced to remind his brothers that their view on time was rather strange for a mortal as well, but they understood the concept of mortality much better.

However, elves got caught up in the stream as well, especially in times of war and danger, which was precisely why the woodelves of Greenwood were viewed as _odd_ by almost everybody else, elves and men alike. Timeless they were, but they were all too aware just how quickly an abrupt end could come.

Legolas himself had lost too many friends over the years not to understand just how precious, and relentless, time could be. And yet, it seemed like only yesterday when he'd met a young Estel who would later become one of his closest friends.

He'd never felt particularly old or weary as none of his father's archers were many centuries younger than him. Additionally, Thranduil had always taken great care in sparing him the feeling of the Drain of War as the healers called an affliction occurring after too many battles and too little rest over the years. In a way, those individuals had spent too much time in the fast waters of the river of time. At some point, you couldn't reach the shore anymore and you simply drowned unless healers, family and friends cast a lifeline into the waters.

Being among the Galadhrim, Legolas felt for the first time in his life what it was like to watch others sitting by the shore when the river had its firm grip on him.

He felt lost in a way he never had before.

Even if Gandalf had lived, Legolas wouldn't have felt much differently. But the timeless Istari's absence made him feel even more adrift. Apart from the wizard, none of his companions could possibly understand his fatigue. Of course, they were grieving too, and the elf would never belittle their pain. After all, he'd seen Gimli's agony faced with the loss of his kin.

"Don't you want to join us, Lord Legolas?" a fair voice spoke suddenly, but Legolas had already heard the young warrior approach.

He turned, giving the young _ellon_ a soft smile. Merilin was the youngest of Haldir's team, protecting the most dangerous border of Lothlorìen.

The Galadhrim had been more than five hundred years old when he'd faced his first combat.

More than twice the age of an average warrior in Thranduil's kingdom when they were already fully accepted by more experienced elves.

"Forgive me, Merilin," Legolas spoke quietly. "I'm afraid my company would leave much to be desired." He'd heard them singing, too far away for even Hobbit ears to pick up.

Of life, the moon and stars, the trees, echoing Illúvatar's Song.

As much as Legolas enjoyed such gatherings, in this moment, so far away from home, knowing that the king's archers still had to defend themselves against an unconquerable onslaught of enemies from the Dark Tower, realizing that one he'd assumed would always be there was gone forever, he simply didn't have the heart to do it.

Not in this forest, which was foreign and as detached from the rest of the world as its inhabitants, speaking a language he didn't know.

Not with the knowledge that the one he'd usually confide in was in greater turmoil than he was.

He'd spoken the truth when he'd told his companions that he was not able to translate Gandalf's laments. He couldn't finish without tears.

And he couldn't afford to show such weakness now.

"Please, Lord Legolas," Merilin spoke. "I do not wish to intrude, but your presence would be most welcome. We don't have many visitors from the North and we would like to hear stories from your home."

Young eyes looked at him.

In fact, Merilin looked barely old enough to have passed the warrior trials. If Legolas didn't know better, he'd guess his age several _centuries _below the actual count.

All of a sudden, the crown prince of Mirkwood felt old and worn out. He wondered if that was how Thorontur felt, when he was watching newly recognized, young warriors.

Was his archery teacher and former commander also forced to ponder every possible way for those young elves to die a horrible death in rapid succession as he was at the moment?

He'd have to ask him.

Later. When he returned home.

"Please, lead the way, Merilin," he said with a smile. It wasn't forced, not really. Merilin was a kind, jovial being, so it wasn't hard to smile. He just...

His words were gifted with a brilliant smile and for a moment, the weight on his heart lifted. Legolas followed Merilin across the grand forest. As he walked, he tried to connect to this ancient, untouched wood and with time, he started to feel the connection and the forest's tune in the Song. Humming quietly, he could feel the waters starting to slow until he almost reached the shore. Perhaps, if the fellowship remained long enough, he might even be able to talk to those grand trees around him.

The last part of their short journey led up a tree. He turned his head when he heard another elf approach.

Legolas involuntarily tensed. He'd been taken aback when they'd met Haldir since the trees had concealed their presence from him, which was only their right, given he was an intruder. For a moment, he'd been truly afraid, knowing that arrows were pointed at the entire fellowship.

Aragorn.

The hobbits.

Boromir.

Gimli...

They could've all been killed and there was nothing he could do about it, there were far too many elves and they'd been surrounded. He knew this because the trees had lifted their veil for but one second and he'd felt the presence of a good dozen elves up in the trees all around them.

"The trees in your home are said to be different, Prince Legolas," another fair voice spoke. The woodelf from the North didn't recognize it. A moment later, the strange elf emerged from the thicket. Had a warrior of Mirkwood entered a clearing like this, they'd have been skewered with arrows. "Do you wish for a rope to aid your ascension?"

The jab hit its mark. The first comment was fact, while the second was both, meant to insult his father's as well as his mother's heritage.

Not Sindar enough to be noble, but a pampered little prince nevertheless.

Not woodelf enough to properly climb a tree.

Not strong enough to help an Istar fight the deadliest of enemies.

Legolas was so tired of not being enough.

Just when his hands grabbed a branch from a tree by the shore, he felt the torrent carry him along once again.

"Legendary are the ropes made of hithlain of the Galadhrim. I wouldn't want to use them for such a meagre task," Legolas responded. "I was unaware the grand folk of Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn knew how to tie ropes for helpless strangers, given how rarely they enter Lothlorìen." With those words, he climbed the tree with the effortless speed and agility he'd learned over years of hunting spiders through treetops.

Spiders, unlike orks, never remembered to look up. Ironic, given that coming from above was their preferred position of attack.

He quickly greeted Haldir, his brothers and a few others of the Northern patrol.

"By Illùvatar! Impressive is the skill of our woodland kin indeed if you climb a tree not your own faster than us, Lord Legolas," Merilin spoke, his breath just a bit too fast before he regained control.

"Indeed," Haldir agreed. "Thank you for joining us. You may accompany us as you wish. Join us in Song or tell us of your home or your journey, whatever is to your liking."

"Merilin asked for tales of my home and tales you shall receive. What do you wish to know?" he responded, a bit too hastily, but if they started singing laments for Gandalf again, he wouldn't vouch for himself.

"Is it true that you live in a cave?"

The only thing that kept Legolas from revealing some of Thranduil's temper was that the question was asked innocently and with great curiosity.

So, Legolas started to describe the palace, last line of defence if the shadow truly managed to overrun his home. Not as grand as Menegroth, perhaps, but still filled with Song even in the darkest of times. He spoke of the talan far up in the trees nearby the palace's gardens, where most of his people lived as none of Thranduil's folk entered the palace unless in times of need. There was only a small group of Sindar elves who lived inside of the palace; none of the woodelves felt comfortable within walls.

"What about you, Prince Legolas?" the nameless elf from before asked. "Do you live inside of the palace?" He couldn't have spoken the word 'palace' more derisively and still sound polite.

"Yes and no," Legolas answered with a smile. And that was that. It wasn't for this elf to know that his father had taken great pains in creating a room that was both safe and gave him the freedom of entering the trees at need whenever he felt stifled by the walls.

"Great was your skill when you sang Nimrodel's song in a tongue not your own, Lord," Haldir said. "Would you honour us with a song from your home?"

"You give me too much credit, Haldir. My skill is neither grand nor did I find my voice when I honoured Nimrodel, too weary and tired we all were. I hoped to give my companions a bit of rest without actually resting. Nevertheless, you asked me to sing a song and I won't slander you. Beware, though, Haldir of Lorìen, that my voice is no match to the skill you hear from the great Singers of Imladris and Lorìen. For that I have but one wish: do not call me by title. It isn't custom in my home and therefore not necessary."

The elves quickly promised to call him by name and Legolas used that time to think of a song from his homeland. Given his current state of mind, it was no wonder he could only think of sad songs. Then, finally, taking much longer than usual, he could see his home, the trees as they greeted him with enthusiasm, the training field, his friends and comrades, his father. No particular song in mind at first, he let the Song take him on a journey.

Time and rivers filling his mind, he sang of the Enchanted River, thanking it for the protection it offered. It had been the woodelves who'd sung that River into what it was today with the ancient – some might say primitive – knowledge of the Las Galen's woodelves.

By the time he was finished, he noticed that his audience had grown. The _mellyrn_ had started to welcome him, a bit less openly and more dignified than trees he'd met elsewhere, but they viewed him as kin of their own. Thus, they didn't conceal the Galadhrim from him anymore.

"We thank you for this wonderful song, Legolas. Great indeed is the mystery of the elves in your forest and you didn't help us solve any of those riddles," Haldir cried.

"Yes, please another song," Merilin's older brother exclaimed. In heart and mind, he was as young and timeless as all the elves here. Haldir and the elf who'd spoke twice before were the only ones Legolas was ready to call anything but children.

"It is time for me to return to my companions. The sun is about to set and they won't begin to eat dinner before my return. I do not wish Master Took to suffer from my tardiness," Legolas replied, smiling at the thought of the young, ever-hungry hobbit.

"Are you sure that the stunted one will welcome you, Lord Legolas?" the elf who'd insulted him before asked with a smile.

The son of Thranduil was known to be very patient with slants aimed at him, but when it came to insults towards those he cared about, he had little tolerance. However, the anger he felt at those hateful words about one whom he'd fought with side by side took him by surprise.

"Lord Gimli of the Lonely Mountain, son of Gloìn, has shown more courage on this journey and has faced greater dangers than you who are protected by the grand Lady Galadriel could possibly understand," he hissed coldly and the trees around them responded in kind. Everything turned darker, echoing his temper. "Our home is overrun by the shadow as we speak and neither of us is sure whether we will return home or follow our companions into even greater peril. Don't you dare call him by such a foul name in my presence, warrior of the Galadhrim, or you will see stars instead of just singing to them."

He deliberately used an insult he'd heard from the Men of the Lake. A slant these elves in front of him couldn't understand, but, if he were here, Gimli would find rather amusing.

"Forgive me, Haldir," he continued, shaken by his own outburst. "Grand is your forest and its people, but the dwarves live closer to us than the Galadhrim. I don't wish my neighbours to be insulted, least of all a dwarf who's stood by my side facing a balrog and the darkness of Moria. Please excuse me, it is time for me to leave."

At that, with a polite bow, he turned and jumped lightly from the treetop, not thinking for a moment that the trees would let him fall. Once on the ground, he quickly ascended another tree and travelled with great speed towards his companions' shelter.

At first, he thought he heard someone pursue him, but whoever that was, couldn't keep up.

He halted a hundred feet before his friends' shelter so he wouldn't seem as agitated as he felt.

The river of time was roaring in his ears.

The heavy boots of a dwarf had him turn around. It took a while before Gimli entered the clearing, and it gave Legolas time to settle down.

"There you are, Master Elf," Gimli said roughly. It was strangely calming, hearing the gruff speech of the proud warrior in front of him. "Good. Our Master Hobbit was starting to fear he might go without dinner."

"You needn't have waited for me, Master Dwarf," Legolas replied with a soft smile, the first truly genuine smile he'd been able to give the entire day. "It gives me no pleasure to see Master Took suffer in my name."

"As if Aragorn would ever let us eat without you present, Master Elf. No need to worry, though, the hobbit can wait. This must feel like home you, doesn't it? Trees, other elves, songs. Were we in a realm of my people, I'd probably spend most of my time with kin," he said, full of compassion and genuine understanding.

Barely able to suppress a sob, Legolas whispered quietly, "No, it really doesn't, Master Dwarf. This is nothing like home. Being here is like Estel speaks of mortal dreams."

"Unreal, you mean?"

Legolas nodded.

"Nothing changes here, stilled in the flow of time. Greenwood isn't like that, not even Imladris. It may also be a refuge, but I cannot find peace here," he spoke truthfully.

"Let's go eat, Master Elf, and join the rest," Gimli said brusquely but not unkind and he turned around.

Opposite to the direction he'd have to take to reach the fellowship.

Without speaking, Legolas made clear he'd have to take another way causing the dwarf to sigh. In the warrior's warm, sorrowful eyes, the prince of Mirkwood recognized the same loneliness and homesickness he felt, probably spiked by having seen the ruins of Moria and being cast away in a realm of elves.

"Perhaps, Master Dwarf, you may join me after eating. We might find a spot that reminds us of Greenwood and the Lonely Mountain," Legolas suggested.

"Aye," Gimli whispered. "We could do that."


End file.
